Are You Now, or Have You Ever Been?
by DreamBrother
Summary: Do memories make the man? Chapter 8 finally up, sorry for the delay. Time to up the angst a little bit...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:**Numb3rs isn't mine. I wouldn't forget such an important thing like owning a TV show… would I?

**Author's Note:**Ah, an ambitious plot bunny. I know the amnesia thing has been done a lot, but I wanted to satisfy my curiosity about a question I had since I was a kid i.e. would we still be who we are if we had no memories? I'm pretty sure I would never eat escargot, memory or no memory. And since my mother would probably frown on my making Brother #2 a test subject, Don has to be the guinea pig. It's ok, he's fictional, I'll put him back… somehow.

**Medical Disclaimer**: I'll be using good old-fashioned logic, as well as an article by a genuine doctor on InteliHealth. Let me know if you want the link. For everything else, I'm cashing in my creative license. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Oh, and don't you love the title? I think I love the title more than anything else. It's a McCarthy-ism originally, but I took it from an episode of Angel.

A million thanks and more to Shaolingrrl for being my beta and all around good cheer. However, any and all remaining weirdness is mine.

**Had to fix a minor plot error in this, sorry if it results in an extra alert for the chapter! **

* * *

**Are You Now, or Have You Ever Been?**

**Chapter**** One-Prologue**

The ray of light passes through the prism and breaks into seven colors:

Orange…the glow fills the cluttered space dominated by the curly-haired mathematician as he twirls his laughing girlfriend in a dance to music only they can hear, revelling in the happiness of the moment…

Violet…the cosmologist observes the florist's cart and his wares for the better part of an hour, as other customers come and go around him, finally deciding on a bouquet of violets with which to surprise his loved one when they meet for dinner that night; he had a feeling the colour would astonish her more than the flowers themselves. After all, one must widen one's horizons…

Indigo…the life-sustaining star begins its decline over the City of Angels, giving way to the indigo flares of the forthcoming night, slipping deeper and deeper into repose in this part of the world…

Green…the patriarch of the family smiles as he adds spinach to the mixture he prepares for dinner that night, knowing that both his sons would soon be voicing their protests over the hated vegetable…the assistant director gives his go ahead for the raid…

Yellow…the dark-haired federal agent barely notices the small devices attached to the base of the wall in time to shout 'Motion sensors,' before yellow fills the vision of everyone, amidst the sounds of explosion…

Red…the bald-headed teammate attempts to rouse the downed agent in front of him, a swinging flashlight showing him for a moment the streaks of red covering the face of his team lead and friend…

Blue…the box-shaped vehicle zooms through the city streets in a flurry of flashing lights and sounds, on its third run of the day to save the life of one of its occupants…

* * *

Charlie sprinted across the hospital parking lot, leaving Amita in his wake to lock the car. When he had received the call, it only took Charlie asking "Which hospital?" for Amita to grab his car keys off his desk and say, "I'm driving." 

Charlie did not lessen his speed until he entered the hospital and caught sight of the familiar form of the FBI agent he had known longest, second to Don. David, still clad in his FBI body armour, looked out of place in the pristine ER hallway. He turned at the sound of a curly-headed typhoon headed his way and put up his hands in a placating gesture:

"Easy, Charlie, take a seat," advised David.

Charlie allowed himself to be led to a row of chairs where he and David wouldn't be in other people's way. He almost cringed at the faint smell of smoke surrounding David, and not the cigarette kind either, but his need for information and concern for his brother overrode all other instincts.

"How's Don? What have they said?" Charlie asked in a rush.

"That's the thing: they haven't said much. From what I can gather, none of Don's injuries are life-threatening, it seems. They're mostly concerned about how hard he hit his head when he got thrown into the wall," replied David.

"Uh huh…," Charlie absorbed this, "and how exactly did that happen, again?"

David sighed before answering Charlie's question: "The warrant for the raid we'd been planning for the better part of this week came through today and AD Wright gave his OK as well. Don and Colby went in first with the primary SWAT team. We didn't notice the motion sensors but Don's last-minute warning allowed the other teams to be more careful but… he and the others weren't able to retreat fast enough."

"If a bomb did go off, how come Don is still alive?" Charlie hated how the question sounded but… it had to be asked. There were only so many times his brother could be an anomaly before his number came up.

"The devices attached to the sensors were only meant to incapacitate, not do permanent damage. At least, we hope. Something must have malfunctioned, because for incapacitation purposes, they should have gone off a bit earlier. And if to kill, they should have been bigger. So in some regards we were lucky, in others… not so much," concluded David.

"How's everyone else?" asked Charlie, nodding at Amita who had joined them and had taken a seat next to Charlie.

"Nobody dead on our side and it looks like it's going to stay that way. Colby is somewhere around here, getting stitches in his arm. Megan's standing in for Don at the scene, and then later at the office. She wanted you to know she'll get here as soon as she can."

"Good," nodded Charlie distractedly. He surveyed the room around them before asking quietly:

"How bad is it really, David?" The question was vague but he knew David would know what he was asking about.

David sighed again. It was all he was meant to do that night, it seemed. "Honestly, I have no idea. I was the first to reach him but… he didn't wake up then and the nurse said he still hasn't woken up yet. We'll just have to wait and see what the doctors say…" David nudged Charlie in the shoulder and gave a small smile. "But Don will be fine, don't worry. When I say the Eppes men have hard heads, I don't only mean figuratively."

Amita snorted at this and Charlie allowed a twitch of the lips in gratitude of this lightening of the tension surrounding them. However, it proved to be short-lived as Charlie heard his name being called out by his anxious father who had just arrived at the hospital. Charlie was prevented from replying by the arrival of a nurse calling out:

"Eppes family?" and after a series of nods from all around, "the doctor can see you now about Agent Eppes' condition."

EENIEMEENIEMINAMOE

Charlie sat in a chair beside his brother's bed, elbow on one of the chair's arms, resting his head against his hand. His father had gone in search of a decent cup of coffee and perhaps some sandwiches from the hospital's cafeteria and Charlie had been left behind to try not to mimic his brother in sleep, having already nodded off a few times, then jerked awake at the last moment.

Don, however, showed no signs of waking at the moment and Charlie was left to wonder if it would be inappropriate to try and rouse his brother by tickling his feet with a feather. His plans were dashed when he remembered that a hospital would be very unlikely to keep a store of feathers somewhere within its premises.

When Charlie and his dad had first walked into the room, Charlie had winced at the colourful bruises dotting his brother's torso and arm, but fortunately the gash on Don's forehead had been kept from view by a large piece of gauze. The doctor had listed all of Don's thankfully minor injuries and although he could give no exact approximation of Don's waking up, chances were that he eventually would.

Charlie looked up when he heard someone enter the room, expecting his father, but finding instead Dr. Bourne, Don's doctor, standing there.

"Hello. Hope I didn't wake you. Just wanted to do one last check-up on our G-man here before I go home for what's left of the night," said the doctor somewhat cheerily.

"Na, I wasn't asleep. Although you'd think 'monkey see, monkey do…'" muttered Charlie.

"You would think," smiled the doctor. "But in this case, I'm hoping Don is the monkey and seeing you awake would speed him al-- holy hell. Looks like someone's decided to join us," said Dr. Bourne, getting over the fright of seeing his patient with his eyes open and staring directly at him.

Charlie scrambled to his feet at the first sound of the doctor's exclamation and stood next to his brother's bed.

"Don?" he ventured, hoping his brother would turn to look at him but the most he was rewarded with was a muttered "Where am I?" as his brother strove to get his bearings.

"Hold your horses, Charlie," said Dr. Bourne, pulling out a penlight and flicking it on.

"Don. I'm Dr. Bourne, your attending physician on this fine August night. You're at UCLA Medical Center. Do you remember what happened?"

"No," mumbled Don, blinking his eyes rapidly to get them fully open.

"That's fine, that's normal in cases like these. Follow my finger, would you?" said Dr. Bourne, and as Don complied he said, "Alright. I'm going to list four things and I want you to remember them for me, ok?" and at Don's grunt of assent, he said, "Chocolate, tree, orange, math. Keep them in mind, yeah?" Don allowed himself a minute nod of his head.

"Good. You're going great. Can you tell me your name?"

"Don Eppes,"

"Date of birth?"

"July 15th, 1970,"

"Who's the current president of the United States?"

Don opened his mouth to respond but no words came out. A look of confusion overtook his features, followed by a look of concentration before being replaced by a look of panic. "I don't know. Why don't I know? Why don't I remember?" asked Don in a rush.

"Calm down, it's ok. It's probably your brain not being very happy at being treated like it was tonight and is being a bit temperamental. I'm going you to schedule you for some tests and we'll take it from there, ok? Before I go, can you repeat the four items I asked you to remember?"

"Math, tree, chocolate, orange," replied Don with a pause between each item.

"Excellent," commended the doctor. With a last pat on his patient's arm and a sympathetic look at Charlie, who was staring at him wide-eyed, Dr. Bourne left the room.

Don turned his head to look at the silent person on his left who wasn't wearing any hospital apparel he was familiar with.

"Who are you?"

Charlie jerked in surprise as Don spoke up, tearing his eyes away from the door through which Dr. Bourne had left, and his heart leapt into his throat as he realized that _his_ brother was asking who _he_ was.

**TBC**

* * *

Let me know your own thoughts on the matter. How much of you would you still be if you had hardly any memories? Now that is one convoluted sentence. 

Man, it feels good to be back. Usually I write/post once a week but I wanted to be a few chapters up of this. And I still have Z is for Zanzibar to write... and the rest of my alpha track. And all the stuff in school. But look on the brightside, we might all be uber-busy, but the new season starts in 3 weeks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Mischief Maker:**DreamBrother

**Disclaimer:**Can't find any proof of ownership so I guess Numb3rs isn't mine… Tragic, isn't it?

**Author's Note:**The lecture chapter. Ah! However, it's a necessary evil. All info taken from an article called "Forget everything you know about Amnesia" on InteliHealt. Kinda like a medical mythbuster article.

As always, thanks to Shaolingrrl for being the beta on this.

* * *

**Are You Now, or Have You Ever Been?**

**Chapter**** Two**

_"We are defined by our memories and by our past. So who are we if we have no memory and no past?_

_– _Anonymous

Alan and Charlie sat in silence in Dr. Bourne's office. They had thought the worst was over when the first visit to this office had the good doctor explaining to them that while Don had not yet regained consciousness, his injuries were minor and the odds were on his side that he would, eventually, fully recover. Now, they were back in the office, Don was conscious, but… he wasn't _Don_. 

Dr. Bourne's office was small but homey. Charlie would have found the place to be a quite comfortable work area had present circumstances not driven every feeling save worry and apprehension from his mind. The doctor owned enough medical textbooks to rival the mounds of math textbooks that cluttered Charlie's CalSci office, but the titles were of no concern to him. Trying to keep his mind occupied and away from dark thoughts, Charlie watched the little home-made suncatcher that hung near the room's tiny window, close enough that the sun's light shone through the pieces of blue glass that hung from the ornament, scattering beams of blue light across the whole office that constantly moved as the glass revolved on the string. Sitting to his right, his father's line of sight intersected with the sole picture frame on the doctor's desk; whether Alan actually saw the photo of Dr. Bourne and a smiling woman with an arm around a boy and a girl, twins most likely, was another matter entirely.

The two Eppes men looked up as one as they heard the door to the office open and Dr. Bourne enter.

"No offense, but I was kinda hoping I'd seen the last of you two in here," said the doctor in greeting as he smiled a bit nervously.

"None taken," replied Alan, allowing a small smile in return.

"Let's get down to it, shall we?" asked the doctor as he sat down and placed a folder on the desk in front of him. After receiving nods from his patient's family and adopting a tone reserved for mini-lectures, he began:

"Don is suffering from what we call 'Retrograde Amnesia,' which means he has no memory of any events prior to his injury. It could be worse," added the doctor with an almost earnest look, "he could be suffering from anterograde amnesia which would have meant he would not have been able to form any long term memories. Plenty of movies out there where the characters have anterograde amnesia, it's tough."

"Now, amnesia is caused by damage to the hippocampus region in the medial temporal lobe in the brain. Usually, it's caused by disease, such as Alzheimer's, but in Don's case, the head trauma. There are cases when such trauma is accompanied by symptoms such as skull fracture, bleeding of the brain, or swelling," Bourne raised a finger to stop Alan and Charlie from interrupting. "Don't worry, we checked, Don's all fine in that area. He's experiencing self-limited symptoms such as dizziness, fatigue, and headaches to end all headaches. Retrograde amnesia tends to improve over time, and once these symptoms go away, I think Don should regain his memory pretty quickly."

"How bad is Don's memory, exactly?" asked Charlie as the doctor paused to take a breath.

"I was getting to that. In the matters of the brain, especially memory disorders, there is no… 'Patient Zero' to base all our theories on or extrapolate from. There's a lot more literature on anterograde amnesia, but once again, we're happy Don doesn't have that. Each case is different, it varies from person to person, there are too many unknown variables." Bourne noticed an odd expression cross the younger Eppes' features, which, if he had to put a name to it, might be inspiration, but shrugged it off and continued. "Retrograde amnesia is often temporally graded, meaning that remote memories are more easily accessible than events occurring just prior to the trauma, so it's more likely that Don will remember events from his childhood and adolescence sooner than he remembers his adult life. The time just prior to his injury, could be the day or a whole week, he might never remember."

"Now, as to how much Don remembers: It's very rare for a person to lose their identity, so Don knows who he is, when he was born and all that. However, I've talked to him; he doesn't remember much else than what I've just told you. He doesn't even remember having a family, although the logical part of his brain tells him he must have had parents somewhere along the line."

"So what's the game plan?" asked Alan. Enough talking, let's get fixing, thought Alan.

"We, and by we I mean you two, jog his memory. Pictures would be a great asset, spanning over all the time he has lost. It would also be a great way to gain his trust; you're strangers to him at the moment. And on the subject of strangers, limit his visitors. Too many unknown faces popping up can be stressful, even if his friends know his condition and don't expect him to know them. Often, an amnesia patient will feel stressed, embarrassed or over-whelmed by their lack of knowledge concerning important information or people, so it's vital that Don is left to remember at his own pace. Music helps… significant objects, mementos, all very good things. I'll be giving you some pamphlets which go into a bit more detail about what an amnesiac patient will know and what he might have forgotten. And obviously, I'll be giving you my contact details for when you have any questions or concerns. Anything else?"

"Yes. When can Don come home?" asked Alan.

"In a few days. He has a concussion, so we want to keep a careful eye on him, make sure he doesn't get worse. When the worst of the worst clears up, you can smuggle him away," smiled the doctor. "But on one condition: you two go home now and get some rest; you're going to need it. Like I said, Don's experiencing fatigue and headaches, and with the mild painkillers I gave him before I came here, he's out for the count. You can come see him in the morning, get re-acquainted," replied Dr. Bourne.

"Can we see him before we leave? Just take a quick peek?" asked Charlie.

After a moment's pause, Bourne answered, "Sure, won't hurt anyone. But make sure your definition of 'quick' doesn't mean staying over. Come, I'll take you to him."

Alan and Charlie mimicked Dr. Bourne in standing up and followed him out of his office.

Coming to a stand outside of Don's room, Dr. Bourne turned to them and said, "Ten minutes and then I expect you two to be on your way home. I'll see you in the morning, gentlemen?"

After nods of acquiescence which saw Dr. Bourne walking down the hallway after a quick chat with a nurse, Alan opened the door to his son's hospital room and walked inside to stand next to his bed.

Charlie stood in the doorway, content to just look in. Having his brother look at him as though he was a complete and total stranger had unnerved him more than he cared to admit and although he knew Don was fast asleep, Charlie didn't want to risk another such encounter at the moment.

Alan sighed as he ran his fingers through his eldest son's dark hair with the lightest of touches, careful to avoid the piece of gauze on Don's forehead. Turning to the son who did recognize his father for who he was, Alan said:

"Look at the bright side: He won't remember to call you Chuck for a few days at least."

**TBC**

* * *

Next chapter should be up in a few days. I can't seem to stop rambling in it. It's almost double the size of this chapter already. Thanks to all those who reviewed, much appreciated.

And being me, I recommend watching the movie, _Memento_, it is excellent. The lead has anterograde amnesia, so it's very different, but awesomely done. Not a big fan of the Bourne series but hey, had to name the doctor something. See you next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:**Numb3rs isn't mine, and I doubt a knock to the head is going to change that.

**Author's Note:**And now, the fun stuff begins, with this being my longest chapter to date. Now if only I'd write as much for History and Literature…

A very tiny reference to/quote from _Guns __and__ Roses_, so tiny that the only reason it's there is because I saw the episode 2-3 nights ago and it got the muse working.

As always, eternal gratitude to Shaolingrrl for being the beta on this.

* * *

**Are You Now, or Have You Ever Been?**

**III**

Charlie came to a standstill in front of his brother's semi-open hospital room door and was confronted with a dilemma: To knock, or not to knock, that was the question.

To knock would be the polite thing to do and whereas the old Don would probably have ribbed him a little for not having any manners, the Don of no memories might react differently. However, if Don was having headaches the size of which Dr. Bourne had mentioned, Charlie's knocking on the door would justify fratricide on Don's part. And if Don was asleep, he wouldn't hear the knock and so not say 'Come in,' and Charlie wasn't sure if he was ready for an unintentional refusal. Even worse, what if Don was resting peacefully and the knock disturbed him from his slumber?

However, if he didn't knock and walked in like he owned the place, Don, if he was awake, might feel intimidated by this stranger taking liberties. Wait a second… 'Don' and 'intimidated' in the same sentence? Did Don even have the gene which allowed him to feel intimidated? _There's a hole in the world_, sighed Charlie. _I wish Dad was here. He gets called away for an emergency meeting with a client at the __da__rnde__st__ time._ Of course, Alan had been on the brink of shrugging off any professional responsibility towards the troubled client in the face of helping his injured son recuperate, but Alan's sense of honour had eventually prevailed.

"Look at it this way," Alan had said as he was leaving, clasping a supportive hand on Charlie's shoulder, "If both of us go, Don might feel like we're ganging up on him. You re-acquaint yourself for now, and I'll get to the hospital as soon as I can."

There was that almost unbelievable thought again: Don feeling ganged up on. No, it wouldn't be. This was Don after all, memories or no memories. Nothing save Aunt Irene, and perhaps Godzilla on its very best day, could hope to intimidate Don. And Charlie was being generous when it came to Godzilla.

Suddenly realizing that he had been staring at the half-open door for a few good minutes at least, Charlie settled on a compromise: Rapping softly on the door, he walked in without waiting for an answer.

The sight of an empty hospital bed greeted him and had him stopped in his tracks for an indeterminable moment in time. However, his eyes soon spanned the small, single occupancy room and found the person of his interest sitting in an easy chair by the room's sole, large window, watching his every movement warily.

_Big brother wary of __me__ That'd be amusing if not for the circumstances,_ Charlie mused. Shaking himself out of his thoughts, _Now is not the time_, he made his way towards his brother and sat down in the chair in front of Don, who all this while carefully tracked Charlie's movements but didn't say a word, choosing simply to scrutinize his little brother.

"Should you even be out of bed?" asked Charlie by way of greeting.

"I got tired of lying down," replied Don slowly, as though carefully considering his answer.

The brothers stared at each other for a few minutes, each assessing the other. When the silence became too awkward and uncomfortable for Charlie, he spoke:

"Uh… I'm not sure how much the doctor or nurses might have told you, or how much you remember, but… I'm Charlie. Eppes. I'm your brother… uh, younger brother," clarified Charlie before wondering whether it was necessary. Was it?

"That's what they tell me," replied Don.

"Right," agreed Charlie. _Ok, we've made progress. Very little, but still, __it__s__ progress_, thought Charlie. He returned his focus to his brother when he heard Don saying something. "Sorry, didn't catch that. What did you say?"

A smirk lit up Don's face for a second before he nodded at the bag at Charlie's feet: "I asked, what's in the bag?"

Charlie looked down to what Don was gesturing to. "Oh, that. I almost forgot about that. Dad sent some stuff. You're still in this place for the next day or two so we got you some of your own clothes, a pair of sweats, t-shirts. We kinda remembered you're not a big fan of hospital apparel. And… pictures. I mean, Dad sent them. Dr. Bourne said the pictures could help in getting back your memory so Dad went a bit overboard. I think I have enough here to map out your entire life on a timeline." Charlie realized that he had begun to ramble and stopped speaking, pursing his lips as he did so and looking slightly expectantly at his brother.

"Are you always this awkward around your brother?" asked Don, and Charlie could see a familiar glint of humour in his brother's eyes.

"Erm… not usually, no. At least, I hope not," replied Charlie.

"And do you always tend to ramble?"

"Pretty much, yes," agreed Charlie, nodding his head in his eagerness, "it's one of my… quirks, you could say."

"Uh huh… may I see?" asked Don, holding out his hand for the pictures that Charlie still clutched.

"Yeah, yeah, of course," Charlie promptly leaned forward and dumped the whole bundle in his brother's lap. Sitting back in his chair, he watched as Don carefully went through each, his bowed head preventing Charlie from clearly seeing the expressions on his face.

"I take it our mother isn't around anymore," commented Don. It wasn't a question, but Charlie answered it anyway:

"No, she… died a few years ago. Cancer,"

Don nodded his head but didn't look up to meet Charlie's eyes. He continued perusing the pictures at a steady pace for a few minutes before pausing at one and looking at it long enough to arouse Charlie's curiosity, and the curly haired mathematician tried to crane his head to see which picture had captured his brother's attention thus.

"So, younger brother, you said?" asked Don, still looking at the picture in his hands.

"Yes," said Charlie.

"Four years?" guessed Don.

"Close. Five years."

"Then tell me, how exactly is it that we seem to be graduating from high school on the same day?" asked Don as he finally looked up and turned the picture around in his hand to give Charlie a full view of the brothers' graduation picture, taken by their parents, with them fully attired in gowns and caps.

"I may have forgotten to mention a little something. I was… am… was a child prodigy. In math, specifically. We attended and graduated high school together. I was 13. After than, you went to college on a baseball scholarship and I went to Princeton." Charlie couldn't quite explain it but he was getting that old familiar feeling that he had done something wrong, like he'd accidentally broken a vase, and now had to tell his mother. Charlie's gift, especially when the brothers were in their teens, had always been an underlying source of tension, and while the brothers' relationship was better now than it had ever been, Charlie couldn't help but worry that this Don might not remember the relationship of today, but instead the tension of yesterday.

Don, on the other hand, looked a bit impressed by this piece of information: "University before puberty? Cool. Or, if you think about it… maybe not." Don seemed to give his brother an appraising look, as though trying to tell from Charlie's current expression alone what the complexities of such a strange childhood would have meant for both the brothers. "Did you like it there? You couldn't have gone alone."

"No, mom came with me. And… I learnt a lot there," said Charlie vaguely.

"I bet." Don continued to observe his brother for a few more seconds before looking back at the pile of pictures in his lap. His attention was this time captured by the picture of the three Eppes men with their arms around each other. It had been taken last year, after a day spent on the green with Charlie's golf balls defying the laws of physics by not landing where he expected. The picture held a special place on the mantle in the Craftsman home but Alan had made sure there were a few extra copies lying around, one making its way to Don's apartment, one to Charlie's bedroom, and a few scattered around the house. It was while Don was looking at this picture that a nurse entered the room:

"Your hour is up, Agent Eppes, time to lie down again. I think you've had enough window gazing for this morning, yes?" asked Nurse Emma, as she noted the presence of faint lines of pain around her patient's eyes, revealing the beginnings of another monstrous headache.

"If you say so," smiled Don. Passing over the bundle of pictures to Charlie, he stood up, one hand still holding on to one of the chair's arms as he steadied himself. If Charlie noticed that Don still had the picture of the three of them in his hand, he didn't say anything.

As Don got settled into bed, Charlie took the clothes from the bag and put them in the small chest of drawers near the window, and then silently brought the chair he had occupied closer to his brother's bed and sat down.

"You're not going to hang around here all day, are you? Don't you have work?" asked Don.

"I think having a brother in hospital with no memories constitutes a day off work, don't you?" asked Charlie, matter-of-factly. Trying to go for a bit of familiar banter, he added, "Besides, our dad is dating my boss." His plan worked as he was awarded with one of Don's trademark grins.

"You're kidding," commented Don. "What do you do, anyway? Must be something related to math."

"I'm a professor of applied mathematics at CalSci and Millie, that's my boss, is the head of the Math, Physics and Astronomy department. I, um, also consult with you on FBI cases."

"Consult? Consult how?" asked Don, perplexed. What would a mathematician have to do with law enforcement?

"I use math to help you with your cases. Help you narrow down your list of suspects, find patterns and anomalies in the data, all sorts of things."

"You're serious?"

Charlie frowned a bit. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"You're not pulling my leg, are you?"

"No! Why would you even think that? I've been consulting for you for the better part of 3 years. The first two or three times it was for cases relating to fraud and money laundering but the real consulting started when I helped you find a serial rapist by tracing out his point of origin, where he lived."

"All right…," Don chewed on his lip a bit thoughtfully. "I'm not saying it doesn't sound a bit cuckoo but… it sounds so crazy, it must be true."

"Thank you," said Charlie sarcastically. Trying to focus on why he was in such a position in the first place, he asked, "Are you feeling ok? How's your head?"

"Still attached and look, they didn't shave off any hair," said Don.

"And doesn't that make it all better?" muttered Charlie. "Do you want anything? Dad and I kinda blanked after clothes and pictures."

"Actually, yeah. Do you think you could grab me a newspaper or two? Might as well catch up on recent events." Don was beginning to feel sleepy but no way was he going to doze off in front of this guy, brother or no brother. And the effort of trying to appear at least semi-normal was getting to be a bit exhausting. He may have been off his game last night, but it would have taken a lot more brain-damaged man than him to miss the effect his not recognizing his brother had had on Charlie. Hell, if he had a brother who suddenly woke up and didn't-

_Damn it, you __have__ a brother. Charlie, brother, brother, Charlie. __Genius guy, crazy hair.__ Is that so hard to remember? _

As Charlie made to leave, Don added, "Oh, and you don't have to hang around. I'm pretty sure the nice Nurse Emma is planning on putting me in a drugged sleep all day, and there's nothing glamorous about watching some guy sleep. So if you want to take off, it's perfectly all right."

"Think of it this way. If you're asleep, you won't know if I'm here or not, watching you sleep, and so, you can't stop me." Charlie made as though he was about to pat Don's hand but reconsidered it at the last moment. "Sleep, don't worry about me. I'll be back in a bit with the newspapers and anything else I can scrounge up. The nurse has my and dad's cell phone numbers if anything pops up."

"Yeah, yeah, got it. Now will you shoo? I promise I'm not going to disappear as soon as your back is turned, if that's what you're worried about," said Don, half-seriously.

"Nah, if that was the case you'd have been handcuffed to your bed, bro. I like to think we work on a relationship of trust," commented Charlie as he left, closing the door behind him. Leaning his head back on the closed door for a few seconds, Charlie exhaled deeply. Smiling at the candy striper who was giving him an odd look, Charlie pushed away from the door and left.

Inside, Don leaned his head back on his pillow, glad to be alone again. While he had appreciated the company and the link to his past, and present if you thought about it, he still needed more time to get his bearings. He wasn't sure who to think of as a stranger, and who to think of as a part of his missing memory. All someone had to do to was walk in and act friendly and Don would be doubting himself and his instincts in a few seconds flat. And right now, Don couldn't afford self-doubt.

He looked down at the picture he had kept, hopefully not noticed by his brother at the time. He had considered taking the one which had his mother in it as well, but at the last moment had snagged this one. Although he was sure his mother was a wonderful woman and looking at her face did ignite a tiny flame of grief in him, the pain was buried and Don wasn't keen on bringing it to the surface. It was easier to deal with grief if you didn't remember the person you were grieving for. And since persons long gone were not on the top of his agenda when he couldn't remember his family members still alive and well, digging in his head for memories of the smiling blonde woman could wait.

_'Cause right now, I've got a few hundred living people to remember, and over 30 years of memories to regain. But look at it this way; I can't think of anything else I might have done otherwise with my time, _thought Don as he closed his eyes and attempted to fall asleep.

MEMENTOMENMENTOMEMENTO

Alan crept quietly into the hospital room, careful not to make too much noise so as not to disturb the sleeping occupant. The lights had been turned off but the rays of early evening sunlight filtering through the blinds covering the window were enough for Alan to navigate his way with ease. His meeting had taken longer than expected but he found it hard to resent the client for his timing; the poor man had been in a fix and it had taken all that Alan and his business partner, Stan, had in them to calm him down and help him.

Alan had tried to get in touch with Charlie but calling him on his cell-phone had proved to be useless, as it automatically went to voicemail. Assuming that Charlie had turned it off since he was in a hospital, Alan was surprised to not find his youngest son anywhere. However, evidence of his visit could be seen. As Alan observed his sleeping eldest son, he risked a light hand through Don's dark hair. He caught sight of something colourful in the light of the sun near his son's hand and curiosity aroused, he tried to pry the picture from under his son's hand.

Alan jumped a little in shock when he felt Don clasp strong fingers around his wrist and looked up to see his son looking blearily at him.

"Hey, there,"

"Dad?" asked Don groggily, still not fully awake.

Alan smiled in joy at the small mercy that Don recognized him. "The one and only. You remember me?"

"Can hardly forget you, now can I?" asked Don. Alan decided not to mention that yesterday, he had. "But everything's fuzzy, so if I forget your birthday, oops."

Alan smiled. "I'll try to keep that in mind. How are you feeling?"

"Like someone took a sledge-hammer to my brain and decided to take my memories as a memento," mumbled Don, shifting a bit to get comfortable in bed again.

"I would assume so. Do you know where your brother has disappeared to?" asked Alan.

"You mean Charlie the sentry? He went to get me some stuff." Don brought his hand up to his forehead as if to try and rub the lingering headache away. "I took pity on him; poor guy seemed to be very uncomfortable around me."

"He's adjusting; you have to give him time. And he's worried," advised Alan soothingly.

"He shouldn't worry so much, it's not good for him," mumbled Don as he made to try and sleep the headache away.

"Yeah, he's worse than me in some regards. Can you blame him? He's only got one big brother who has a tendency of getting into trouble," chided Alan gently.

"But I'm still around, aren't I? He's going to get white hair before me if he doesn't watch out," muttered Don and was asleep as soon as the last word left his mouth.

Alan shook his head, half in affection, half in exasperation, as he fixed the blankets on his slumbering son. "I can't blame the knock to the head for you forgetting how much your brother worships you, Donnie, when you hardly seemed aware of it before."

**TBC**

* * *

The others should start coming in again in the next chapter, which is going to be shorter in length, and Don has to leave the hospital soon. Man, it is so much fun figuring out the thought processes and differences for an amnesiac Don, and those around him.

Review time, people! See you in IV.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:**Numb3rs isn't mine

**Author's Note:**This is a bit of a filler chapter. Just wait until I get Don home ;-)

Thanks to Shaolingrrl for being the beta, and all her comments and help.

* * *

**Are You Now, or Have You Ever Been?**

**IV**

Amita meandered her way through the many aisles in the huge campus store, making her way across the clothing section and bypassing the sports goods area to find the person she sought in the music section. Coming to a stop behind the person, she peeked over his shoulder and said:

"Never would have taken you to be a Johnny Cash kinda guy, Charlie."

Charlie whirled around in surprise, barely missing colliding into his girlfriend, who quickly took a step back.

"Amita! What are you doing here?" asked Charlie.

"Looking for you," replied Amita simply.

"How'd you know I was here?"

"You'd be surprised how many students notice if the professor of applied mathematics spends around an hour in the music section of the campus store. So, the Man in Black, huh? At least now I know what to bring on our next road trip," said Amita, taking the CD case from Charlie's hands and reading the song list on the back cover.

"Nah, it's not for me," Charlie paused a moment before continuing, "It's for Don."

"Speaking of-," Amita began when Charlie failed to elaborate, "How _is_ Don? Have you talked to him? I expected you to be at the hospital, which is why I came here after one of your students mentioned seeing you here."

"Yeah, I just came from there. Even talked to him a little bit," replied Charlie.

"And?" prompted Amita.

"And… he has absolutely no idea who I am. Not even a little bit. Don's one of the two living people who knew me before my genius, and now I have to tell him everything; fill in all the gaps. Hell, I wasn't even there for my mother the last 3 months of her life, unlike Don, but _I_ have to tell _him_ that she's dead," said Charlie in a rush. He took a deep breath, before shaking his head. "It's just…ironic. Very, very ironic."

Amita didn't say anything, having a feeling that Charlie wasn't done yet. She was right.

"And this morning, I'm with him and… I can see the effort he's going through to appear a bit normal around me; to not freak _me_ out. He didn't even want to appear tired around me, which is ridiculous since his doctor said fatigue would be one of the symptoms, so I took pity on him and asked if I could get him anything."

"And… Don asked for some music?" asked Amita a bit disbelievingly.

"No, no, he asked for some newspapers, to catch up with current events and all, as he put it. Dr. Bourne said music might help Don regain his memories faster, so here I am, trying to remember what kind of music Don listened to back then," explained Charlie, turning back to the scores of CDs in front of him and picking up Eric Clapton. "It will give him some time to get some rest before I go back."

Amita nodded in understanding. "Let me help with that. Any little facts you can tell me, to narrow down the search? For example, I'm pretty sure Don is not a Kanye West or 50 Cent kinda guy." Amita smiled sweetly at the two students who stood on the opposite side of the CD rack she and Charlie were browsing and held said rap stars' CDs in their hands. She achieved her intended aim when Charlie smiled a little at the thought of his brother listening to rap.

"Well, Don was born in 1970, and if we go by the assumption that he started to get into music when he became a teenager, that would mean looking at music of the '80s," deduced Charlie.

"Oh, I don't know about that, Charlie. You have kids these days listening to musicians who died before they were even born and on the other side of the spectrum, you have 80-year-old grandmothers going to Enrique Iglesias concerts," said Amita.

Charlie's eyebrows knit in confusion at this piece of news, "You're making up the last bit, aren't you?"

Amita smiled mischievously. "Wanna bet?"

Charlie considered this, thinking _If__ Larry can go to a White Stripes concert_… before replying, "Na, I'll take your word for it. But what you've just said doesn't make it any easier to find stuff for Don." Charlie waved his hands to show all the varied genres and artists and decades the store held.

"Don't worry about it, Charlie. Johnny Cash is actually a pretty good choice, so is Eric Clapton. And no self-respecting man born in the '70s can do without some Fleetwood Mac. Also, what would really help is if we grabbed some greatest hits of the decades CDs, specifically, for the '80s and the '90s. Even if Don might not have liked the popular songs very much, he couldn't have missed hearing them on the radio and the television and it might strike a familiar chord in him," reasoned Amita.

"That's not a bad idea," agreed Charlie, and soon he and Amita were in the checkout line, hands filled with compilation box sets. Charlie couldn't help going a bit overboard in his enthusiasm to get the old Don back, and had even thrown in a few soundtracks from some of Don's favourite baseball movies into the mix.

As they walked out of the store, into the brightness of the sun, Amita looped her arm around Charlie's waist and whispered in his ear, "Don will get back to normal in no time, you'll see. And even if he doesn't completely regain his memories, he'll still be your big brother." Pulling back a little, Amita said at normal volume, "Megan came to see you and Larry. They're meeting us by the coffee-shop. Wouldn't want to keep them waiting, would we?"

"No, I guess not," agreed Charlie, smiling at Amita in unspoken gratitude at her support.

Soon, all four were sitting around a table outside the campus coffee shop, each sipping the beverage of their choice. Megan had wrapped up the paperwork concerning the raid that could have gone a whole lot worse, and had come both to see her boyfriend and to check up on her boss's condition through his brother who wouldn't pick up his phone.

The profiler in Megan had noted the slight hints of stress in the young mathematician and it didn't take a genius to figure out what was causing it. Last night, Alan had informed her of Don's amnesia and had relayed the doctor's advice that the fewer the visitors in the beginning, the better. As she got ready to leave and get back to work, she smiled at Charlie cheerfully and said:

"No worries Charlie, annual performance reviews are coming up soon and no way is Don's subconscious going to allow him to forget what David, Colby and I did to him last month."

"I'm almost afraid to ask… what did you guys do?" asked Charlie warily, at the same time wondering what he was projecting to be comforted twice in less than an hour about his brother.

"Well, we were all very proud of Don for kicking Agent Danes' butt, he's this really huge guy in our office, on the practice mats so the three of us ganged up on him and… lifted him bodily and threw him into the gym pool," grinned Megan. "Just to show him how proud we were of him, of course, and to thank him for making us win over $50 in bets."

WALKTHELINEWALKTHELINEWALKTHELINE

Alan sat quietly by his son's bedside, reading a magazine as his son slept. He looked up when he felt someone's hand on his shoulder.

"Mr. Eppes, there's someone at the nurse's station asking for you," said the nurse softly.

Alan silently got up and followed the nurse outside, all the while wondering who would be asking about him. He smiled when he saw the tall form of the team-mate Don had worked with the longest, standing next to the door to Don's room.

"Alan, how are you?" asked David as he shook hands with his boss's father.

"Just fine, David. And you?" reciprocated Alan.

"I'm good, just here to check up on some of the SWAT guys who were injured, along with Don," informed David.

"Oh yes, I've been meaning to ask about them, how are they?" asked Alan in concern as he was reminded of the fact that Don was not alone in this.

"Well, they won't be banging down doors anytime soon but they'll be fighting fit in no time," said David, "Like I told Charlie, we were really lucky this time. How's Don doing?"

"He's… well, he's… I don't know how to put it, actually. He seems to be doing relatively well, physically, but he doesn't remember anything. He barely remembers me," smiled Alan, humourlessly. "It's kind of like he's there, but not entirely…"

Through the open hospital door, Don lay awake in bed as he listened to a father who was only familiar to him in the slightest, and this David character, talk about a Don Eppes who, at the moment, did not exist.

**TBC**

* * *

Just a quick note here: Chapter 5 is going to be a bit delayed: I'm caught up with trying to finish my alphabet track at the moment, along with college aps, so this story is being put on the back-burner a bit. All apologies, but I will get to it as soon as I can be bothered to type out the pages I've written. Until then, hope you like whatever one-shots I come up :-)

Let me know what you think of this chapter. Adios :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:**Numb3rs isn't mine.

**Author's Note:**I'm done with my university applications! Now it's wait for offers time. To celebrate, a chapter.References made to _Running Man_ and the Pilot. And as always, big thank you to Shaolingrrl for the beta.

Now that Don is finally out of hospital, let's have some fun, shall we?

* * *

**Are You Now, or Have You Ever Been?**

**V**

_Footfalls echo in the memory,_

_Down the passage we did not take,_

_Towards __the door we never opened_

_-_T.S. Eliot

In the order of decreasing height and age, the Eppes men entered the Craftsman home. Alan, the eldest, tallest and most likely the wisest, unlocked the front door and held it open for his first born, who stepped across the threshold, looking around as though seeing everything for the first time. Charlie brought up the rear, holding the bag containing the pictures and the change of clothes he had taken to his brother the day before, ready to support his sibling if another spell of dizziness struck at an inopportune moment. Normally, either Charlie or Alan would had hovered closer to Don than they did at present, but since Don was now more uncomfortable with physical touches than he had ever been, the two Eppes men had to settle for being extra vigilant so as to cover the extra distance at a moment's notice.

"Nice place," commented Don. The place felt achingly familiar but no specific memories were coming to mind regarding this house. The feeling of 'home' was just out of his reach, and he didn't know how to get it back.

"I'm glad you think so," said Alan dryly. "It's actually your brother's house now. I put it up for sale three years ago. When I said yes to the anonymous offer, I had no idea it was from Charlie."

"Sneaky brother, huh?" Don smiled at Charlie as he wandered through the house, looking at the items inside the bookcases Charlie has restored last year, brushing a hand against the back of a chair, looking at the framed pictures mounted along the wall. "Should I be surprised?"

"No," said Alan.

"Yes," Charlie said at exactly the same time and turned to glare at his father. "If you knew I wanted to buy the house, you would never have accepted my offer."

"On what evidence are you basing that assumption on, son of mine?" shot back Alan.

As his father and brother bickered, Don wandered over to the piano that rested somewhat out of sight, out of mind. Ghosting his fingers over the smooth wood of the instrument, Don lifted the cover and placed the fingers of one hand over the keys. He didn't realize that his father and brother had paused in their squabble and were listening to his every movement. Much like that time a year ago when Alan and Charlie had been in the garage and Don had come home with a six pack of beer to find the house empty and his mother's music on the dining table and had played the piece unaware of his audience, now an amnesiac Don pressed a few keys, unbeknownst to him that he was playing the opening notes to Etude in G Minor. Looking up with a self-conscious blush creeping up his cheeks when he realized his family's attentiveness, Don hastily put the cover down again and with an embarrassed smile, said:

"Don't think I'm a piano playing kinda guy"

The comment elicited only stares from the Eppes men who still had their memories intact, and it didn't take long for Don to self-consciously start tugging at his ear lobe as he was wont to do and ask:

"So… what now?"

The question roused Charlie and Alan from their funk, and looking only mildly flustered, Alan said:

"Food! I mean, I better get dinner ready. Both of you alright with brisket?"

Glad that the awkward moment was over, Don allowed his father a brief smile and, hardly realizing what he was saying, replied, "Brisket… must be Friday."

Alan, disappearing into the solitude of the kitchen, allowed himself a flash of hope in regards to his son's eventual recovery as he heard a trace of the old Don in the sentence.

Back in the living room, the brothers were alone and standing in silence. Charlie was the first to speak:

"So, uh, you should probably rest until dinner. They might have discharged you from the hospital but the doctors were very clear on the point that you shouldn't exert yourself." Charlie waved a small bag, "And I have your meds right here. You'd tell us if your head was hurting, right?" asked Charlie a bit dubiously.

_Not very likely_, thought Don, but what he said instead was: "Any reason for you to think I might not?"

"Past experience," replied Charlie. "You weren't," Charlie realized he was in the past tense and quickly corrected himself, "_aren't_ always the most open when it comes to admitting pain."

Don gave no indication of being aware of the change in tense, choosing simply to nod his head distractedly.

As Charlie watched, Don pointed towards the stairs and asked, "So I guess I'll be staying upstairs? In the guest room, right?"

"Upstairs, yes, guest room, no. You have your own bedroom," replied Charlie.

Don quirked his eyebrows in confusion, "I wouldn't have lived here full-time since… college, I'm guessing. And Dad mentioned something about my apartment. Why not use my old room for something else, especially now that you own the place?" Don asked.

Charlie shrugged, "I don't know… I might own the house on paper, but this place is as much yours as it is dad's and mine. Besides, you tend to crash over here when you've been working non-stop on a case and you need a place closer than your apartment to sleep. And," Charlie tilted his head towards the swinging door of the kitchen, "you can't resist Dad's cooking."

As if on cue, the sounds of a utensil hitting a hard surface could be heard.

Lifting an eyebrow, Don replied, "That doesn't sound very encouraging."

"Trust me; once you've tasted Dad's rib-eye, there is no looking back." Charlie tried his best not to look too deeply into the fact that a strange expression had crossed Don's face at the word 'trust'.

Don glanced at his watch in a gesture that was so achingly familiar to Charlie, reminiscent of the old Don, yet new to this new version standing in front of him, and remarked as he began to turn towards the stairs, "Anyway, better go and lie down, like you said. Dinner is at six, right?"

Charlie nodded and began to follow his brother, saying, "I'll help you get settled in, show you your room."

"No," Don said a little quickly, "I meant, it's ok, I'll figure it out myself. How hard can it be, right? You've gone through enough trouble for me as it is." Without waiting for a reply, Don disappeared upstairs at a speed that was still mindful of his other injuries sustained from the explosion, however minor in comparison to the long-term effects of the memory loss.

Alone as he was in the living room of his home, Charlie still whispered, "No trouble at all, bro," before grabbing his bag and walking towards the garage. He had work to do; specifically, on a new part of the brain to research in terms of his Cognitive Emergence Theory.

UNE –DEUX-TROIS-QUATRE-CINQ-SIX-SEPT-HUIT-NEUF-DIS

Don treaded silently. The floors were wooden and he wasn't entirely sure just how loudly his movements might be transmitted downstairs. The last thing he wanted his "family" to know was that instead of resting like a good little amnesiac, he was wandering around. Of course, the search for his own room was justified, but that could only explain his continuing steps so far. The first door that he had opened upon coming upstairs led to what was certainly the master bedroom, which, in all likeness, was still inhabited by Alan, even though he was no longer the master of the house. Door #2 revealed a room whose shelves were filled with notebooks and toys no self-respecting child would ever want anything to do with, other than work out their destructive tendencies on. So this must be the genius little brother's room.

The third door finally opened up to reveal a room Don could be reasonably certain was his. It was neater than he expected, and if it wasn't for the smattering of personal items here and there, could have been mistaken for a spare room. The contents of the desk attracted him upon a cursory glance of the room. Walking towards it, Don noted a brand new portable CD player placed next to a formidable pile of CDs which were trying to emulate the Leaning Tower of Pisa, it seemed. A quick glance at the titles told him that the little library consisted of the greatest hits of a few artists that seemed vaguely familiar, and a nice chunk of songs compiled by decade. A post-it on top of the highest CD read in a somewhat childish scrawl:

_The doc said music might help. I wasn't sure of your favourite so I grabbed the most likely candidates. The decade albums are for familiarity, rather than preference._

_-C_

Don took a moment to wonder if the addition of 'The Greatest Movie Love Songs of the last 20 years' was a gag on the curly-haired man's part or if the Don Eppes of yore was a sap in disguise.

Suddenly feeling a bit stifled in the room, Don went back into the corridor and made his way towards the door at the end of the hallway that had caught his attention when he had first come up, noticing the bright rays of the sun filtering through the slight gap between the open door and the doorpost.

Pushing the door open wider and slipping inside, Don immediately began to feel calmer than he had in days. Being cooped up in a hospital for days without going outside was one thing, sensing the barely concealed yearning and hope in Alan and Charlie as they watched him was almost too much too bear. If it wasn't for the fact that Don wasn't in the mood to go around trampling the spirits of his current landlords, he would have told them to save their energy. He wasn't any closer to remembering than he was right after he woke up.

Other than the brilliance of the sunlight pouring through the wide windows, the room consisted of a sofa and a few blackboards placed to the side displaying what looked like more alphabets, not all of the English alphabet, than numbers. From the writing on the post-it, as well as the complexity of the equations and basic sense, Don knew this to be the work of none other than Charles Eppes.

Gingerly sitting down on the couch and putting his feet up on table in front of him, Don was barely aware of the fact that only a few minutes later, he had dozed off staring at the blackboards with a strange sense of serenity filling his being.

**TBC **

* * *

Chapter 6 is written, and I'll put it up as soon as I've written 7. Prep for my History AS (you guys must think all I ever do is study History... it' not very far from the truth, actually) will be starting soon but I'll try my best to churn out a few more chapters while I inevitably procrastinate. 

Review time people, chop chop! (No, I'm not hungry. At least, not yet...) And I hope you're brushed up on your Rampage and Looney Tunes (yes, I said Looney Tunes) for the next chapter :-)


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:**Still isn't mine

**Author's Note:**Big, big, big nod to _Rampage_. And for the sake of this story, forget Liz ever existed :-) And I hope you're brushed up on your Looney Tunes. If you got an extra alert for this, my apologies. I had to go back to fix a teeny tiny plot error in Chapte One.

A huge thank you to Shaolingrrl for the beta, who has made me put SF on the list of cities to visit should I ever tour the US during uni years.

* * *

**Are You Now, or Have You Ever Been?**

**Chapter**** VI**

Don wasn't expecting anyone to be awake this late at night, which is why he stopped short at the sight of Charlie sitting at the kitchen table, chin on the back of the chair he was sitting on, and an open pack of spaghetti in front of him. As Don walked forwards, the faint sound of something crunching under his shoes could be discerned if you listened carefully.

"Hey," said Don quietly, and went towards the fridge.

"Hey bro," replied Charlie a bit distractedly as he took out another stick of spaghetti, an action unseen by his brother who had his back to him, facing the fridge. If Don heard the sound of the spaghetti breaking, he didn't say anything. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Been sleeping all day for the past couple of days," murmured Don, "Makes sense that my sleep cycle is going to be messed up a bit." Dinner had been a quiet affair, nobody speaking very much. Charlie had been right when he had said Alan was an awesome cook, because the brisket was out of this world. However, Don had put his head injury to good use and retired upstairs almost as soon as dinner was over. After tossing and turning in bed for at least half an hour, Don had finally decided to give up the task of trying to fall back asleep, and had made his way downstairs.

To this, Charlie said nothing. Looking up to see that his brother was still perusing the contents of the fridge, he spoke up: "If you're thirsty, try the grape juice. It's supposed to be good for the memory."

Don did not directly reply to this, instead pulling the unopened carton of grape juice and setting it on the counter before starting to open and shut cabinets as he went about his search. It took Charlie's softly spoken, "third cabinet from the left" for Don to find two glasses which, along with the juice, he set on the table in front of Charlie and pulled out a chair.

"So," began Don as he cracked the seal on the juice, "why so glum, chum?"

At hearing such a strange phrase coming from his brother's lips, Charlie raised an eyebrow and looked mildly bemused. Interpreting this as a result of his concern, rather than his way of wording it, Don shrugged and said:

"You look like someone killed your pet and told you Santa Claus wasn't real all within minutes of each other." Don filled the two glasses about three-quarters full and slid one towards his brother saying, "If I have to drink this, so do you."

Charlie took a sip of the juice before replying, "I'm fine, don't worry about me."

"Uh huh… then why are you sitting in the kitchen at 2 in the morning playing with spaghetti?" asked Don.

Instead of answering his brother's question, Charlie asked one of his own: "Did you know that if you bend a piece of spaghetti, it'll always break into three of more pieces?"

"No, Charlie, I can't say I do." A look of disappointment tinged with sadness crossed Charlie's features, but for so fleeting a moment, Don almost thought he had imagined it. Almost. Feeling as though he had been tested and had failed, Don took a sip of grape juice to cover the beginnings of discomfort he had begun to feel.

"Richard Feynman and Danny Hillis spent an entire night bending spaghetti. It took them twenty years to figure out why you cannot break spaghetti in half," Charlie informed. He bent the piece of spaghetti in his hands and heard the fragments fall on the kitchen floor around him.

"And why is that?" Don was always one to learn from his mistakes.

"Fragmentation theory," replied Charlie, taking out two more pieces of spaghetti and handing one of them to his brother. "Math stuff," he added with a smile, overwhelmed by the sense of déjà vu which sadly, his brother showed no signs of feeling himself.

"What's your point?" asked Don as he accepted the proffered piece.

"Not every story has a point," murmured Charlie as both brothers bent the spaghetti at the same time. "Sometimes you bend spaghetti just to watch it break."

Something in the younger man's tone had a part of Don which had lain dormant since the explosion rear its head and itch to fix whatever was bothering the spaghetti-breaking genius. Deliberately bringing his fingers to meet at the center-point of the piece of spaghetti in his hands, Don snapped the pasta in two:

"Wait, I did it"

Charlie looked at the two pieces in his brother's hand and smirked. "That's not bending it. You snapped it, it's not bending it."

"You just don't want to admit that Feynman and Ellis could have done something better with their twenty years than bend spaghetti. Like, I don't know, find a girlfriend?" suggested Don.

"Actually, Feynman was quite the ladies' man," pointed out Charlie.

"While we're on that topic, I think you left one of your CD's in my room," said Don in a seemingly innocent voice.

Charlie suspected where this was going and felt the beginnings of a blush creep up his cheeks. "Oh yeah? Which one?"

"Greatest Love Songs… I mean, I could kinda tell that you were the mushy-romantic kinda guy from the beginning, but really Charlie, it's nothing to be ashamed of. You don't have to hide the evidence in your brother's room."

For a moment, Charlie forgot his brother's condition and retorted, "What makes you think you're not a mushy romantic, bro?" before inwardly cursing his own forgetfulness.

"I guess I can't really be sure, can I?" replied Don with a sad half-smile.

There was awkward there which Don tried to remedy by saying, "So, while we're on the topic of mush, got a girlfriend?"

Charlie nodded, "Yeah, Amita. She teaches at the same university I do. She's… great. We've been dating for about a year, give or take."

"And Dad is dating Millie, who is the head of your department. Don't tell me I'm also dating someone from your school."

Charlie shook his head, "Actually, I'm not sure who you're dating. Or if you even have a girlfriend at the moment."

"Wouldn't I tell you if I did?" asked Don.

"Ah… I didn't even know you were engaged about five years ago until two years ago when I came across the ring in a box of your stuff."

"That's weird…," muttered Don, too bothered with the fact that he tended to keep a lot hidden from what was supposedly his family to go after his brother for going through his stuff. Taking a last sip from the juice, Don bent down to collect a few scattered fragments of the spaghetti and immediately regretted the action, barely able to suppress a groan at the sudden onslaught of pain in his head. Bringing his elbows to lean on the table, Don slowly massaged his temples, mindful of the stitched gash in his head. He wasn't aware that Charlie had even moved until a gentle poke in his arm made him open his eyes and he saw his brother holding a glass of water and a pill in his open palm.

"Have it," Charlie gently ordered and Don complied. "I'll clean up here, you should go back upstairs. Anything else I can get you?"

Don stood up, one hand firmly on the back of his chair, and one of the table. "My memories would be a good start but I'm guessing they aren't stored in a bottle somewhere, are they? 'Night, Charlie. And thanks for the CDs." And with a parting smile and a slightly unsteady gait, Don exited the kitchen.

1712-1712-1712-1712-1712

The morning saw Don sitting at the dining room table, perusing the day's newspaper with a concentration unparalleled by previous times. Every word, every sentence, every article was read. Heck, even every advertisement was noted. He looked up as a carrot found its way in his line of sight. Next to him stood Alan, proffering said carrot, and placing a bowl filled with the vegetable on the table.

"Eat," said Alan succinctly.

Don took the carrot but showed no inclination to devour it. "Um… may I ask why…?"

"Carrots are supposed to be good for your memory. Eat," Alan said again. "And we're having fish for dinner."

"Are you trying to lure my memories back with food?" asked Don, but Alan didn't bother to answer, instead making his way upstairs to fetch something. "First grape juice, now carrots," mumbled Don before taking a large bite of the vegetable.

He was chewing away at his third carrot when Charlie entered from the garage through the kitchen door.

"Ah, Bugs Bunny, where are your floppy ears?" he asked with a grin.

Don looked up and instead of retorting, decided to go with the flow. After all, he was sitting there, eating carrots of all things.

"What's up, Doc?" he asked morosely.

If possible, Charlie's grin widened, and thinking back to his early days of Looney Tunes watching and remembering Bugs Bunny's chief rival, the little, bald, shotgun-toting Elmer Fudd, he continued the charade by saying, "Shhhhhhh, be vewwwwy, vewwwy quiet. I'm going to the store to grab some chalk, I've run out. You want anything?"

"What could ever possibly compete with carrots?" asked Don sarcastically, grabbing another carrot from the bowl.

Charlie simply smiled, and with a parting wave, he grabbed his jacket and car keys and was out of the door.

Immersed as he was in reading the paper, Don wasn't sure how much time had passed when the front door opened. He thought it would be Charlie, back from his quick run to the store, but froze when he heard the unfamiliar gait of a stranger, someone who took shorter steps and wore heels. He didn't have a chance to disappear as the dining table was in plain view of the front door and the strange woman converged on him.

"Hello G-man, this is a first. Don't think I've ever seen you at home during the daylight hours before," said the energetic woman, conveying a high sense of energy for all that she wasn't exactly a size 0. She must have noticed the gash to the side of his head because the next thing Don knew, she had reached out a hand and had turned his head to the side to better view the injury. "You've gone and injured yourself on that job of yours, haven't you? Alan must not have liked that. Where is he, anyway?"

"Upstairs," mumbled Don, trying to think of ways he could vamoose from this woman's company without being rude. She didn't seem to be a threat, in fact for all he knew this was the woman his father was dating, but he couldn't be sure. She hadn't seemed to have noticed his discomfort or reticence as she continued talking enough for the both of them.

"Just came back from a week spent in San Francisco, where all the smarties have their parties, and am I tired. Intellectual types they might all be over there, but there's only so many How Do You Do's I can handle in a certain time period. And if said intellectual types are driving Mercedes, only so many different ways I can word Give Me Your Money! Almost made me think longingly of Antarctica again, but there is a noticeable shortage of Alans over there. I wonder if I can convince your father to go on a vacation with me there. He likes to fish, yes?"

"Probably," said Don vaguely. He wasn't sure if he had ever felt this jittery before in his life and was a second away from throwing politeness to the wind and bolting from the room. His saving grace arrived in the shape of Charlie who entered saying:

"Forgot my wallet, of all things. Millie!"

"Hey, Charlie. Any chance that you and your brother here might be able to convince your Dad to go on a trip to the South Pole?"

If Charlie noticed the silent plea for help emanating from his brother, he didn't say anything. Instead, he sought to keep Millie's attention on him while giving his brother an out.

"Hey, Don, could you do me a favour and grab my wallet from the garage? I think I left it next to my laptop. Thanks." Don had bolted before Charlie had even finished his sentence, but not before shooting a look of deep gratitude towards his brother.

As soon as Charlie thought Don was out of ear-shot, he abruptly changed his tone and asked, "Millie, when did you last speak to my dad?"

Millie frowned at the urgency in the professor's voice: "Right before I left. Why?"

Alan choose that moment to come downstairs and Charlie signed in relief, saved from having to go through the trouble of having to give an account of that horrible night and the fearful days that had followed; the ordeal was still not over.

"Dad, Millie, Millie, Dad," said Charlie as though introducing them for the first time. "I'm sure you two have plenty to talk about. Dad, I'm going to the store with Don."

With a slight glare directed towards his father, Charlie quickly left the two alone and made his way towards the garage, where he found his brother examining his boards.

"I'm sorry that had to happen," said Charlie, making his brother aware of his presence, even though he had a feeling his brother knew already.

Don did not reply to this directly. Instead, he chose to say, "Thanks for the out," and chucked the wallet he held in his hands to his brother with an easy, underhand pitch.

Charlie caught it easily and pocketed it, noting the signs of stress he usually saw in his brother during a hard case. He tried to think back to all that Dr. Bourne has said about people with retrograde amnesia but was distracted when Don spoke again:

"So what's all this?" he asked, pointing towards the blackboards filled with numbers.

"My Cognitive Emergence Theory," replied Charlie, "Math of the brain."

"How long have you been working on it?"

"Umm, about a year, I think, on and off. I work on it only when I'm not busy helping you with a case or school-related stuff."

"And the fact that you've labelled a section the Hippocampus has nothing to do with my memory loss? Oh, and my name popping up here and there is just a coincidence?" asked Don with a half-smile.

Without waiting for Charlie to come up with a suitable reply, Don walked towards the exit, thumping his brother on his chest with the back of his hand as he passed. "Come on, genius, let's go get you some chalk."

**TBC**

* * *

Chapter 7 should be up by the weekend, I'm mostly done with it. And the third ep of Season 4 looks like it's going to be good, so fingers crossed that the promo isn't misleading. Night, night. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:**Nope, ain't mine.

**Author's Note:**Reference made to _Obsession, Two Daughters _and_ Brutus_. And if you look carefully, there's a quote from _Dark Matter, _but it's very obscure, no worries.

Big thank you to Shaolingrrl for the beta.

* * *

**Are You Now, or Have You Ever Been?**

**Chapter**** VII**

Don inhaled deeply. After days of being either in the hospital or in the house, it felt good to be outside, with no evidence of walls in sight. Only trees, trees and lots of trees. Oh, and lots of kids running around, a few young women, either running after their adventurous children or jogging to keep themselves in shape. The older women had accepted their fate in terms of their figures and now sat on benches circling the park's small pond, a few feeding the ducks.

Don had sat in Charlie's small, blue Toyota Prius whilst the young genius had quickly run inside a store to grab the box of chalk that he so desperately needed, but instead had exited with a little more than a supply of the small, white writing instruments that left a trail of dust everywhere.

_"Here," Charlie said __and dumped a part of his extra shopping in his brother's lap as he got back into the driver's seat and buckled up._

_"Why are you handing me a __baseball __cap, Charlie?" Don__ asked. "Am I missing something?"_

_Charlie shrugged, "I thought we'd go to the park for a little bit. It'd be good to get some fresh air and it'll give us time to make sure Millie's left by the time we get back. You mind?"_

_"Not at all," Don replied. "But what's the point of the cap?"_

_Charlie shrugged. __"__It's really sunny outside__Oh,__ and there's a strap at the back, you can loosen it so it doesn't hurt your stitches when you wear it."_

_As Don set to getting the cap to fit comfortably on his head, Cha__rlie took another item from the shopping bag in his hands. _

_Don looked up when Charlie asked, "How do I look?" and had to stifle his laughter. Sitting there, in all his glory, was Charlie__ with a multi-coloured hat which would have made any jester proud adorning __his head and covering his curls._

_"I think you weren't thinking when you bought that hat," replied Don, allowing a smile to soften the words._

_Charlie mock-scowled, "Hey, I like this hat. Besides, I needed to cover all the surface area that I could. These curls of mine are more dangerous than you think. Women have left anonymous love letters on behalf of them." Looking in the rear-view mirror, Charlie gave the hat a tug or two._

_"Why do I find that hard to believe?" Don asked, as Charlie turned the key in the ignition and the engine purred to life._

_"__Would I ever lie to you?" asked Charlie a bit distractedly as he pulled out of the parking lot, looking for oncoming cars as he did so._

_"Would you?" asked Don__ in all seriousness__, observing Charlie carefully for his reaction, it being almost as important as the question, which, to Don, was a very valid one._

_Charlie quickly turned to __look at his brother, a look of surprise and hurt on his features. In his distraction, he almost forgot to slam on the brakes when the traffic lights quickly turned red._

_Silence prevailed until finally, the lights turned green and Charlie __asked, "If I said no, would you believe me?" Don was saved the trouble of trying to reply by Charlie who quickly said, "On the other hand, don't answer that. I don't think I want to know."_

Twenty minutes later, Don was sitting on a bench near the pond, twirling the cap in his hands.

"You do know the point of the cap is to wear it, right?" Charlie asked as he walked towards his brother, his hands filled.

"What do you want from me? It's shady here," Don replied, looking at the ice cream cones his brother was offering. "What, they didn't have grape or carrot-flavoured ice cream?" he asked sarcastically.

"Nah, thought I'd go easy on you after your less than optimal first meeting with Millie. So, what will it be? Chocolate?" Charlie extended his left hand. "Or blueberry?" he asked, extending his right hand.

A bit hesitant for a moment, Don finally decided to go with the chocolate. Charlie smirked. "You've always hated blueberry. And what makes you think these two aren't on the good food lists?"

"Sneaky, sneaky," murmured Don as he slid down the bench a bit to make space for his brother, who sat down. Noticing a sudden lack of colour around his brother's head, Don asked, "Hey, where'd your hat go?"

"A kid seemed to really like it, so I gave it to him." As if on cue, a kid wearing the ridiculously coloured hat ran by, followed by a young woman five seconds later.

"Aw, Chuck's got a heart of gold, has he?" Transferring the cone to his left hand, Don took his cap and jammed it onto Charlie's head, the brim thereby covering Charlie's face and preventing Don from seeing the happy expression that crossed the younger man's face at his old nickname.

"Seven days," murmured Charlie as he swatted Don's hand away and took off the cap, fixing his hair as he did so.

"What was that?" asked Don.

"Nothing," Charlie quickly replied. He cleared his throat before continuing, "Um, listen. Megan called while I was getting ice cream. Special Agent Megan Reeves, she's your second-in-command. You've worked with her for about two years," Charlie filled in quickly upon seeing Don's raised eyebrow. "She was wondering if she could come by the house later to see how you're doing…."

When Don didn't say anything for a minute, Charlie hurried to backtrack: "It doesn't have to happen if you don't want to. It was just a suggestion. I shouldn't have asked, especially after the morning you've had--"

"Calm down, Charlie, it's alright," Don said with a slight smile, although had Charlie not been looking as carefully as he was, he would have missed the slight signs of tension Don had begun to display.

"It _can_ wait, you know…" Charlie tried again.

"Can it? Can't exactly hide from everyone forever, now can I?" Don stood, wiping his hands together to get rid of the stickiness left over from the cone he had finished eating. "Tell her she can come over whenever she wants. If that's ok with you, that is," Don quickly added.

Charlie mimicked his brother's actions. "I told you before, Don; the house is as much yours as it is mine. Are you sure about this?"

Don shrugged. "Does it matter?"

Charlie furrowed his brows. "Yes, it does."

"It's been a week, Charlie, and I haven't begun to remember anything new. Now is as good a time to start as any." They headed toward Charlie's car, even though the house was within walking distance.

Charlie sighed. "I'll make the call."

1789-1789-1789-1789-1789-1789

Megan carefully put her Acura in park in the Eppes' driveway and turned off the engine. However, she did not immediately get out. Taking a moment, she took a deep breath and tried to tamp down her nervousness.

_Stop being ridiculous, Reeves, there's no need to be nervous. It's not like you're meeting your boss for the first time_, Megan scolded herself. _For him, the first time, maybe.__But not you._

Shimmying out of her jacket, Megan tossed it into the backseat. It was pleasantly warm, and experience had taught her that the suit-wearing Feds always intimidated people. Right now, she was meeting Don in the capacity of a friend, not a co-worker or fellow FBI agent. Hence the casual look. Well… as casual as you could look with a gun strapped to your side.

Opening the car door, Megan stepped outside and began walking towards the front door. _David and Colby can sure sweet talk their way into getting out of things when they want_, Megan thought. Before she had called Charlie in the morning, there had been a minor debate between the three remaining agents of Don's team as to who would make "first contact." It wasn't that they didn't want to see for themselves that their boss was ok, but it was a bit daunting that they would essentially be strangers to Don.

_"You should be the one, David, you've known him longer than any of us," Megan had argued._

_"Yeah, __by like, 6 months. Big deal! You should go, you're the profiler, and it'll help you out. And you're a woman, no offense but less threatening," David shot back._

_"Yeah, a woman who can kick our asses five ways to Sunday but less threatening, sure," Colby had quipped. When both team-mates turned to glare at him, he backed up a step and suggested, "Straws?"_

And here Megan was, about to ring the doorbell to Charlie's house, when the door suddenly opened to reveal the young genius.

"Megan! Hey!" said Charlie enthusiastically, but instead of stepping aside to let Megan enter, he stepped out a bit, and closed the door slightly behind him.

"Charlie?" Megan queried his strange behaviour.

"Yeah, sorry, but I just wanted to check on something. Don's going to be seeing you for the first time, essentially, and he's going to have the same reservations and behaviour as when he meets a stranger. You're ready for that, right?"

Any other day, the sight of seeing Charlie act so openly protective of his older brother would have made Megan smirk, at least, but not today.

"Don't worry about it, Charlie. I'm turning on the charm. Don and I will be best friends by the time I leave." Megan tried to seem confident, and it must have worked because Charlie stepped back and opened the door wide, letting her enter.

"Good," Charlie whispered. He walked towards the living room and Megan heard him say, "Don, Megan's here. I'll be in the garage if you need me." Charlie walked past Megan, wishing her a quiet good luck as he passed.

Megan walked forward caught the first sight she had of her friend in over a week, as he sat on the couch and watched her with barely disguised wariness, standing up as she came towards him.

"Hey, Don," she greeted, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, thanks. How are you doing?" Don replied.

"No complaints." Megan smiled. "It's good seeing you again. David, Colby and I miss having you around the office."

"I'm sure," Don replied slowly, still assessing her.

Megan sighed; this wasn't exactly the stuff friendships were based on. She took a chance. "Look, Don, I know you don't remember me, and that's fine. And I know that for you to be comfortable around me, around everyone, and to trust them, it's going to take time, and maybe remembering a bit. So, you should know that until you do, and you can take your time with it, we will wait. We're your friends and family," Megan gestured to the plethora of pictures of the Eppes family that surrounded them. "We're not going to rush you or pressure you. You know that, right?"

Don seemed to contemplate this but didn't say anything. He nodded towards her arm, which was bared as she wore a half-sleeve t-shirt, "How'd you get that scar?"

Megan looked to see what he was gesturing at, although she already knew. Don was asking about the scar which was the parting gift from Crystal Hoyle. "Uh… someone had a unique way of saying goodbye."

"Care to explain?" Don asked although it didn't really sound like a question to Megan's ears.

"A little while ago a spree killer held me hostage. She heard you guys coming and decided to leave me something to remember her by," Megan explained, then pursed her lips. "Why do you ask?"

Don shrugged, his eyes flicking away for a moment. "We worked together in a team, yeah? I was your…boss? Wouldn't it make sense that I would want to take care of my own?"

Megan tried not to let show how much Don's usage of the past tense worried her.

**TBC**

**

* * *

** Now that is what I call an abrupt ending. To the chapter, I mean. Part 8 will be a bit delayed because I'm about to be flooded with mock exams for History (first mock on Thursday, yikes). Don's memories should start to come soon, I guess. Still have to fine-tune some details. Do amnesiac people really get flashbacks ala the movies? I might just put my own twisted logic to use instead. See you in Chapter 8, which hopefully will come soon. Very deceptive word "Soon".

Thank you for the lovely reviews:-)


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:**I disclaim fervently.

**A/N: **Reference made to the _Pilot,__ Uncertainty Principle,__ Sniper Zero, __Man Hun__t, Soft Targe__t, __Dark Matter_ and _Under Pressure_.

Yup, this chapter is finally here. Extremely sorry for the long delay; there are no excuses. The chapter was done but I procrastinated horribly with some changes. On the bright side, I'm done with History (woohoo!) and… I've got mid-terms coming up. Darn.

Big thank you to Shaolingrrl for beta-ing this and making it a better chapter than it previously was.

* * *

**Are You Now, or Have You Ever Been?**

**Chapter**** VIII**

"So this is your office," said Don as he walked through the door.

"This is my office," confirmed Charlie as he dumped his bag and keys on the desk in front of the blackboard.

"It doesn't look like an office," commented Don dubiously as he took in all the toys and gizmos scattered around; i.e., the chaos known as Dr. Eppes' office.

"It's still my office," argued back Charlie.

"Tell me again what I'm doing here?" Don asked as he wandered about the spacious room.

"Familiar surroundings," replied Charlie. "What, you don't relish the fact that you're out of the house?"

"Are you kidding? Feels like a field trip," replied Don. "You said familiar surroundings. I come here often?"

"Relatively. You drop by once in a while, sometimes with data for a case, sometimes just to have lunch together. You looking for something?" Charlie asked when he noticed the frown on his brother's face and his odd behaviour.

"Don't know…don't you have a dartboard or something?" Don asked as he carefully scanned the room's walls.

"Why do you ask?" Charlie questioned. He didn't want to get his hopes up based on something as minimal as Don remembering that he had a dartboard. For all he knew, the darts were lying around in plain sight, and Don, having spotted them, would obviously look for the dartboard.

Don shrugged. "Dunno…just felt like playing darts, thought you might have a board." Don shrugged again, this time looking a bit sheepish, and unknowingly staring at the wall that had once been adorned by the dartboard. "Forget about it, it's no big deal."

"No, no, I did have a dartboard. The hook that was holding it came off a few days ago; I haven't had the time to replace it. I've probably kept it around here somewhere." Charlie waved his hands about. "Ah, there it is. Told you it was around here," Charlie said as Don shifted two heavy tomes to the side and lifted up the dartboard, an eyebrow raised at Charlie's scatter-brained placing.

"Don't you have a class to teach? I mean, you already took a day or two off when I was laid up in hospital, right? Slacking off, are we?" Don teased.

"Wouldn't dream of it," retorted Charlie. "Nah, today's a light day. One lecture followed by office hours. And since it's early in the semester, I don't expect many students to show up. They tend to freak out in the week before finals and then there's a stampede."

"I guess I'll explore the campus while you're lecturing," said Don, flipping through some of the books piled on top of the shelves.

"Actually," began Charlie a bit hesitantly, "the lecture I'm giving is for my 'Math for Non-Mathematicians' class. It's nothing fancy, and it's directed towards people like you, and Dad, he attends them sometimes. So you could sit in. If you want, that is."

"Sure," said Don. "Have I attended any before?"

"You caught the tail end of one lecture about two years ago," replied Charlie.

"That's it?"

Charlie shrugged. "You're busy with your work, Don, just like I am with mine."

"You find the time to consult with the FBI on a semi-regular basis," pointed out Don. "Shouldn't I return the favour by at least taking an interest in your work?"

"Who says you don't take an interest? And any lecture I give for the non-mathematicians class, who do you think has to sit through the practise run at home?" Charlie grinned. "Besides, I never said I was consulting as a favour for you. Not only do I get a nice pay check signed by the US government, a lot of the math I do for a case gets published as articles showcasing the practical side of math."

"Ahhh, I see."

"Oh, you do, do you?" mocked Charlie and got a piece of renegade chalk chucked at him for his troubles. He was prevented from retaliating by a knock at one of the doors as Amita poked her head in.

"Hey Charlie, you in here?"Amita called out. Upon spotting Don, she looked startled and said, "Oh. Hey Don. I didn't know you'd be here."

Charlie quickly sprang in to do some damage control. "Yeah, it was a last minute thing. Don, this is my girlfriend and colleague, Amita Ramanujan. She helps me with my FBI cases quite a bit as well."

As Charlie finished speaking and stood silently for Don's reaction, Amita took the initiative and stuck out her right hand:

"Hey, Don. It's good to see you up and around. How're you feeling?"

Don gave a half smile as he shook hands, and shrugged in response to her question. Instead he asked, "You came to see Charlie, right? I'll let you guys have some privacy." He began to move towards the door but was stopped by both Charlie and Amita saying "No!" at the same time.

Exchanging a bemused look with her boyfriend, Amita continued, "Please, don't. I lent Charlie my flash drive and I just came to see if I could have it back."

"Yeah, yeah, it's right here," Charlie replied. Making his way to his bag, he opened the pocket in the front, took out the tiny device, and handed it to Amita, trying not to notice that his big brother was doing a poor job of trying to blend into the background.

Amita was just about to turn and leave, flash drive in hand, when Larry walked through the door and immediately threw himself in a chair, scrubbing his cheeks with his palms.

"Excellent, you two are here." Upon spotting Don, he said, "Oh, hello Don." Turning back to Amita and Charlie, Larry continued his tirade. "I need refuge! Or better yet, a good reason why I cannot provide refuge. My Aunt Louisa's dwelling is being repainted and she wishes to stay at my residence until the smell goes away. I already have her invading my dreams; imagine what would happen to me if she were to live with me, even if only for a few days!"

Charlie's eyes flicked nervously towards his brother who stood rooted to the spot, looking at Larry who had his back to him. Deciding it would perhaps be best to keep Larry's attention focused on Amita and himself, Charlie replied as though nothing was wrong:

"Well, Larry, have you considered telling your Aunt that you no longer own a house and were recently occupying the steam tunnels on campus?"

"There is that, but I fear it may lead to an invitation to share my Aunt's hou- Don!" With that sudden exclamation, Larry was on his feet and approaching Don with his hand outstretched. "I didn't remember that you didn't remember. My apologies. Lawrence Fleinhardt, at your service."

Don, who had taken a step back at Larry's sudden actions but had found a bookshelf blocking his path, had to smile at the man's eccentricities. He shook Larry's hand, murmuring, "Hey."

"You know, I always thought it to be a fascinating topic of discussion, the fact that we remember the past, but not the future. Of course, seeing as how you don't remember either…." Larry trailed off.

"Hey, Larry," Amita interrupted, "Why don't we go get a cup of coffee and I'll help you come up with a solution to your aunt problem?" Without waiting for an answer, she steered the physicist towards the door and left with a parting wave.

Turning to his brother, Don asked: "So…. Anybody else I should expect to meet on campus?"

Charlie smiled nervously, unsure of how Don felt about the sudden introductions of two of his closest friends. "Well…there's Professor Osaki whom I might have introduced you to but no worries about her, she's always holed up in her lab. And she's not a close friend, she just helped me out once for a case. Oh, and Oswald, he's a student here. But the worst is over, I think."

Don nodded, before taking a look at his watch. "What time is your lecture?"

"Erm… now. Ready to go, bro?"

"Lead the way."

NUMB3RSnumb3rsNUMB3RSnumb3rs

"Well, that was interesting," commented Don, as he and Charlie left the small lecture hall after all the attendees had departed.

"Sarcasm?" asked Charlie, as they made their way towards the small eating place on campus which Charlie favoured.

"Sincerity," replied Don. "Although explain to me why we haven't seen you as a contestant on a few game shows. It would be nice to have a sports car or two parked in the driveway, and some all-expenses-paid vacations."

"Considering I lost my first driver's license due to speeding and only got it back a year ago, a sports car would not be a good idea."

Don paused in his step, turning to look directly at his brother. "I knew there was a reason I felt nervous sitting in the car with you driving."

"Hey, I am an excellent driver!" Charlie protested.

"That's what they all say," replied Don. "For the emotional trauma you've caused, you can buy me lunch."

"If that's the way it works, then you owe me a sports car," Charlie replied a bit thoughtlessly, immediately regretting it when Don looked at him sharply.

"What do you mean?"

Charlie hurried to backtrack, although he knew it'd be fruitless. "Nothing. Forget I said anything."

"I've forgotten enough as it is. Tell me what you meant," demanded Don.

Charlie sighed, internally cursing his carelessness. "You have a job which puts your life at risk almost every day. It's not easy to ignore, Don."

As Don registered this, he unconsciously began to rub his left arm, just below the elbow. Charlie, who remembered very clearly, even if Don didn't, a time when that arm had been wrapped in white gauze stained with red, pushed back the emotions that arose whenever he thought of those few days when the Charm School Boys were wreaking havoc on the two Eppes' lives.

Nothing more was said between them as they placed their orders and found a spot to sit, trays in hand.

"You're keeping something back. I get the feeling that you weren't just talking about my job."

Charlie fought down the wave of panic. As difficult as his childhood might have been for him, Charlie knew it hadn't exactly been easy on Don either, and if he could prevent his brother from remembering this, especially the guilt he felt about his actions during high school, then he would do what he could.

"There are things I wouldn't mind forgetting," began Charlie. "And there are things I would prefer you didn't remember. But I wouldn't change anything in our past, because it's made us into who we are today. Can we leave it at that for now? Please?"

Don was never one to deny his little brother much, especially when it mattered, such as this time. Nodding his head to show his acquiescence, he saw his brother visibly relax and begin to eat.

He wasn't foolish; he knew that somewhere in the past the he didn't remember, there were skeletons in his closet. This conversation simply provided confirmation, and for a second Don hoped that his memory never came back, so he could live on in blissful ignorance.

**TBC

* * *

**The last bit is still a bit funky, but I needed to get this posted or else Chapter 9 will never see the light of day. However, I need to get back on track with the story, so in the meantime I might do a short Jam fic if I'm feeling a bit touched in the head. 

Thank you to all those who reviewed, esp the anon. ones I can't thank through email.


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